Suspicion
by reanwood
Summary: Caspian is a light sleeper. He has to be. Which is why he is completely mortified to wake one morning in the How with flowers in his hair. Movie-verse, Susan/Caspian fluff.


**Disclaimer: I'm obviously not C.S. Lewis. ...or am I? No, no I am not. Oh well. Please review if you enjoyed it, or if you didn't, tell me why. **

Caspian is a light sleeper. He has to be. He's grown up with 'training accidents' and badly secured 'decorative' weapons that were miraculously sharp and had a tendency to fall from where they were 'secured' when he walked by. As such, he'd grown accustomed to snapping awake at a moment's notice, ready to defend himself.

This wariness has only increased since that night when, in all his exhaustion, he had allowed himself to sleep peacefully, deeply, only to awaken to be told that his life was now forfeit, that he had to run and abandon everything he knew. Suspicion has become ingrained in him, his eyes would unconsciously fix on anyone who came near him; assessing their threat potential. His hand would move towards his sword automatically. At times, he almost felt bad for being so wary, especially when Kings and Queens of Old would catch his actions--ever vigilant, he had to give them that--and give him the strangest looks. As if he was silly, for being so mistrusting. But for the life of him, he can't help it. Queen Lucy had chided him once, telling him he need not be so wary of the Narnians; they were friends, family. He was safe amongst them.

He could not bring himself to tell her that he had grown up where one was never safe, not even—especially—amongst family. He could tell, from the way she and her siblings stuck together so tightly, that she had never known such a worry.

Even the bored, quiet growl of a reclining Jaguar sends his heart skittering and his fingers curling over the familiar hilt. He'd shoot the animal a quick look, only to find it eyeing him curiously, as if in this realm of talking Beasts, _he_ was the oddity.

When he sleeps, it's a fitful, restless thing that should hardly be called sleep at all. The slightest rustle, footstep or voice would awaken him, despite the exhaustion that had been seeping into his bones as of late.

At least, that is how it would happen normally. But for some reason, this particular morning was not normal.

His eyes slide open slowly, and he feels for the first time as if he's really, truly gotten a good rest. As he raises his head from the wadded up cloak he had been using as a pillow, his eyes catch the languid descent of an object from above him. He turns his head and stares at the small white flower lying innocently on the stone floor. His head tilts in confusion, and the action frees another small flower to fall to the floor.

Slowly, his eyes widening, he reaches a hand to touch his hair gingerly, and to his horror and utter bewilderment, feels the soft brush of more flowers there. _Many_ more, entwined innocently with his dark hair. For a few moments, his mouth works wordlessly, trying to form some kind of response.

He's shocked. Slightly mortified. The thought of who all could have seen him like this, decorated like a bride, flutters through his head with painful clarity and he groans. He can only imagine High King Peter's reaction, or King Edmund's. His mind is at a loss for who could have done such a thing, without awakening him. Who possesses such stealth, to go so far as to touch him and not awaken him?

He reaches to brush the offending objects out of his hair, finding some of them thoroughly entangled with his curly locks. He's in the midst of removing a particularly troublesome one when the sound of muffled giggling snaps him to rigid attention; standing in the hall in front of him are Queens Susan and Lucy, stifling fits of laughter with their hands. He opens his mouth—to say what, he is not sure—when his eyes catch on something in the youngest queen's hair.

A white flower, tucked innocently behind her ear. Susan follows his line of visions, unable to contain the fit of giggles any longer.

He gaps; he feels rather as if he has been hit over the head with a very heavy object. His mind is tripping over itself, a mess of protocol, scenarios, searching desperately for a dignified way to react. He finds none. _They_….?

"Oh, Caspian," Lucy begins, biting her cheek, "I'm awfully sorry if we've offended you. But you looked so innocent sleeping there, and the flowers were just so pretty… I hope you don't mind."

"I…" _Yes_, he wants to say_, I most certainly do mind. I feel like a woman_. "It…It is alright, Queen Lucy…" It is impossible to chastise the young queen. He gives the stubborn flower in his hair another tug, but it's steadfast. Seeing his plight, the two girls quickly walk over to assist.

Silently, he thinks how he has never been this embarrassed in his entire life, and that he would gladly take a bloody battle over sitting helpless while the Queens of Old assist him in plucking flowers from his hair. _Flowers_. From his _hair_. Amidst this thoroughly mortifying train of thought, another thought strikes him.

"How did you do all this, without awakening me?" He asks, careful to remove any hostility that may have otherwise invaded his tone. He thinks he is successful, but from the odd look Susan casts at him, he may not have been.

"Susan talked to you," Lucy says smoothly, as if she often spent time weaving flowers into the hair of warrior princes, "That seemed to do the trick. You were really fidgety at first, kind of like a cat—" he's slightly indignant at being described as 'fidgety', but he lets it pass, "but then she just started talking to you, and you calmed right down."

Caspian cast Susan a disbelieving and bewildered look. "What did you _say_?" He wants to know. She merely shrugs. He thinks he sees a rosy color begin to tint her cheeks, but she ducks her head away from him and he cannot be sure.

"I just talked," she tells him quietly, "Nothing special. Told you to relax, to sleep. That I wasn't a threat, you could trust me. That you were safe." She pauses, biting her lip, her fingers lingering in his hair, "That I would keep you safe."

He's struck silent. He wants to tell her that nowhere is safe, but he cannot find it in him. Right now, as embarrassed as he might be, he _does_ feel safe. Warm. For the first time in what seems like a lifetime. The realization makes him slightly uncomfortable; what a strange effect these legendary figures have on him.

Finally, they manage to remove all of the offending flowers—there were quite a few, much to his horror—and the three rise to their feet. Lucy is biting her lip, twirling particularly pretty one in her hands idly.

"Caspian," She begins, in a tone that tells him she's going to ask something unpleasant of him, "won't you wear just one? For luck? Both Peter and Ed both have one!"

He marvels inwardly at the power of persuasion the young girl possesses; truly a queen in her own right. He wants to refuse her request, on a number of grounds, pure manliness being the most prominent. However, if both High King Peter and King Edmund have agreed to wear one, he cannot possibly look any worse than either of them. The combination of the hopeful gaze she has fixed on him and Susan's expectant smile forces him to give in. He simply cannot win.

"Of course, my queen." He says quietly, "I will wear one, for luck." He lowers himself to one knee, allowing the young girl to tuck the flower securely behind his ear. As he straightens himself, he scoops up one of the many discarded flowers and casts a critical eye toward Susan. "But Queen Susan must wear one also," he proclaims, feeling very bold as he gently pushes the flower into her hair. Before a comment could be made or a blush begin to stain his cheeks, he turns and walks quickly away, towards fresh air. Had he stayed, he may have seen the shock that registered on Susan's face, as well as the scarlet that swept over her pale face. He would have heard Lucy's knowing giggle.

As it is, he steps out of the inner workings of the How only to see King Edmund leaning against a pillar, eyeing him evenly.

"King Edmund," Caspian acknowledges. Edmund nods his head in greeting, a smile forming easily on his lips as he takes in the bedraggled prince. Caspian's eyes stray to the white flower that stands such a stark contrast against Edmund's dark hair.

"She got you too, I see." Edmund says good-naturedly, touching his own flower to clarify his meaning.

Caspian nods. "She did indeed." Silently, he thinks that he and the young King mean two very different 'she's.

He does not notice that from the time he first awoke to him now resting comfortably in Edmund's presence, not once did his hand move towards his sword, nor the thought even cross his mind.

-**End**-


End file.
